Playing With Fire
by Gyroscope
Summary: Power is like a fire. Everyone wants to taste its heat, feel its warmth and use its qualities to their own arsenal. But if you play with power, you will get burnt one way or another.
1. Never

_A/N: And so, the rewritten version of "Tainted". Don't bother searching for it; I gave it a grave and now it sleeps peacefully in it. Even so, its spirit is still here with me and has now reincarnated into this fanfic. Enjoy, have fun and be confused. _

* * *

**PLAYING WITH FIRE**

Power is like a fire. Everyone wants to taste its heat, feel its warmth and use its qualities to their own arsenal. But if you play with power, you will get burnt one way or another.

* * *

**Prologue:** Never

* * *

It was the day I turned of age, where I was gifted one irreversible curse.

A curse where she was severed from me.

The beginning of our time together was a gift from the gods. We shared our mother's tomb and the welcoming embrace of moonlight. Separation of us was impossible, yet fate managed to slice a cleaver between our bond.

It was our name day, where sixteen autumns had passed. As it was a custom among highborn families, presents were given to celebrate our entrance to this world. We sat upon plush sapphire cushions, sheltered by blue fabric draped on golden poles. My sister and I were adorned with our traditional clothing of navy robes and gold ringlets like halos on our heads. Kin of our blood lined up, the queue like a lush lake, bubbling with talk and sparkling with jewellery. They would wish us great tidings for the future and present us with expensive gifts.

There were many gifts, piling up until the heavens. One stood out, a present from our kin. It was sweet for my grandmother to gift me a horse, a smoking stallion bred for wars and races alike. Being a proud soldier, I needed a strong companion on the battlefields and the tracks. I had a reputation to hold, especially with a powerful family like this.

She gave my sister a petite necklace. It had a chain that looked like a stream of liquid gold, spilling from my sister's palm. The pendant was just as astonishing, a dark royal indigo teardrop, representing the sigil of our house. But my sister did not dare put it on. Instead of being thankful to her, my sister's purple eyes stared hard at grandmother. I reached to touch my beloved sister's arm gently to sooth her, but she flinched away immediately.

She has never done that.

After the generous gifts were opened and the moon arose, the crowd flowed into the dining hall. The wooden tables were carpeted with exotic food, the steam frolicking like silver ballerinas above. Smells of strong spices seduced my senses as I sat up on the high table, dining with my lord father and lady mother. We forgot every care in the world, eating and drinking and talking and eating more. Midway through the feast, when the old men were full of wine and the young girls started to dance, I realised my dear sister was not there.

She was never there.

I politely excused myself and pushed through the drunken crowd, through the camp of blue tents, through the woods and to the place I knew she would be.

It was the tree. It bore no fruit, nor flowers, nor leaves. It bore nothing but dark spidery branches. They were alike to talons, carrying their prey of the heavens. The trunk was twisted grotesquely, and formed a fearful face. It sat upon the highest hill, the moon overlooking the tree with bright watchful eyes. My sister and I treasured this tree, as our lady mother told us about its importance to our birth. We danced around it when we were younger, ignorant to the world, oblivious to darkness. When I saw my sister under the tree that night, she wanted to dance. But not with me.

Slowly, I edged closer to her, but she ignored my presence. She was never that rude and was always quite the princess to everyone. She never sat like that either; back bent, knees up and wrapped with her arms, and her face buried. I bent down and brushed her cheek with my gloved hand. It frightened me how her body jerked up and how her arm swiftly pushed me down. I fell backwards, nearly impaling myself with a nearby twig. The moonlight paled her once rosy face, her violet glare now like spiteful daggers. Her forehead was creased with sudden age and those eyebrows were knitted together.

She never looked at me like that before.

"Don't touch me. Never touch me," she hissed.

Her movements were swift as a bird; the weapon was in her hand in a blink. She held the dagger, the dagger from my sheath, to my neck. The sharp chill of metal was quite alike to the cold finger of fear stroking my back.

"I need a blood sacrifice. I waited for this day to come. And look what patience has rewarded me," my sister said in a voice not of her own.

I had to look at her properly from my fallen stance. She wore that purple dress that matched her eyes, the dress I gifted her that day. Men would call her beautiful, but what I saw was evil… No, that thought must not cross my mind. The light was her cloak, and an unfamiliar shadow cast over her brow. My eye wandered down to her chest; upon it was the indigo teardrop dangling by a gold chain. The pendant winked at me, or was it the reflection of the sun? The sun was already waking, its golden fingers peeling off its dark blanket of night. My sister's eyes rapidly darted to the sun and back to me, as if I was making time tick away faster, faster…

"Please, beloved sister. Do not hurt yourself or I. Take off that necklace so you can truly see. Your thoughts are blinded by its power," I said quietly. My neck stung more as the blade dug deeper into my flesh. The warm blood coated the cruel blade, the crimson dripping down my collar.

"I was chosen for this. You saw grandmother give me the necklace, not you, sweet brother." She brought the bloody blade to her lips and her pink tongue darted out, licking the dagger clean.

"There was only supposed to be one, instead the Gods were generous and gave two. I will right their mistake," my sister hissed, wiping the blood from her lips. "Now I have your blood within me, the deed must be done."

She grabbed the pendant and squeezed. Her complexion began to crack, first fine lines like wrinkles, then into deep fissures filled with indigo. The cracks ran to her arms, weaved to her body and her legs, the blue becoming thicker, thicker…

I reached out to grab her, but it was no use. She burst, an explosion of dark blue teardrops splattered, mimicking a tinted rain. My teardrops fell in unison, sliding down my cheeks and dripping from my chin. As immediate as they came, the teardrops evaporated, leaving me alone.

I was never supposed to be alone.

* * *

Without my sister, I would live a half-life, a cursed life. Being who I am, I would fight against fate and not put myself through that torture.

My servants tie my grandmother's hands and ankles to a pole and splash oil onto her blue robes, painting patches of dark indigo. More servants pile wood near her feet. I am quite surprised that my grandmother has no resisted yet.

"I will not scream, dear grandson. My spirit will easily return for vengeance," my grandmother said, as if she read my thoughts.

I ignore her silly words and throw a torch at her. The servants scurry, forming a crescent behind me. They watch the flames, writhing and dancing like the drunk girls at my name day. They hear the fire, cackling as my grandmother's skin melts in the terrific heat. They smell the smoke, wisps of shadows tickling their nostrils.

Yet I see victory where a witch, a murderer, a traitor is dying in front of my eyes. I hear my grandmother's song, her voice once quiet, becoming louder, shriller… then desperate gasps. I smell revenge whilst my grandmother's soul drifts away with the smoke.

* * *

With all my love and respect, I ride my gifted horse to the tree each day to mourn for my sister. The tree also mourns with me, its once fearsome face now miserable. I kneel in front of the tree, my sword stabbed into the ground, my palms on the pommel and my head bent. I whisper words of love and protection for my sister in her afterlife.

So today, I ride again upon my smoky stallion for another moment of remembrance. I continue riding and the tree is within my vision in the distance. However, I do not get any closer.

I never did reach that tree.

And I never will.


	2. Blood

**PLAYING WITH FIRE**

Power is like a fire. Everyone wants to taste its heat, feel its warmth and use its qualities to their own arsenal. But if you play with power, you will get burnt one way or another.

* * *

**Chapter 1:** Blood

* * *

The tome was thicker than Snipe, the edges rough, the pages yellow and the title illegible. It was a clumsy thing as the young empress slapped it atop an ebony bench, the spine cracking at the impact. Dust formed billowing clouds around her, threatening her nose to sneeze. As they faded like an evanescent breath, the clouds of dust unveiled the book again. She stroked the cover, caressing the rough bumps, the fine cuts and the stains that looked like dark bruises against its dull crimson skin. She even smelt the old thing, the lingering scent of ink still pungent, stinging her nostrils. Her thin fingers held the edge of the cover, hesitating to open the book. But curiosity overtook her, and her fingers were a blur as she flipped through page after page, after page.

The ruffling of flipping pages stopped. Here on the page was a familiar picture. She could see her own sharp chin and the inherited violet eyes, with that raven black hair framing a pale face. It was her grandmother sitting on a crystal throne, the Queen of Cyclonia. A rare indication of happiness lit up Cyclonis' face.

"I hope I'm living up to your expectations, Grandmother," the young empress whispered to the picture.

With a crash, her reminiscence broke. Her temper rose and she snapped her head up, eyes narrowing. The doors were wide open, the intense light flooding in, yet Cyclonis calmed. The Dark Ace swiftly entered, hastily bowed and presented his master a gift from the Atmosian Council. It was a messy present, the crimson ooze dripping and spoiling the metal floor.

"Master, they have started," the Dark Ace announced, "They are more ruthless than before."

"Are you scared, Dark Ace?" Cyclonis whispered under her hood, "The dead doesn't hurt anyone."

The Dark Ace lifted the gift to his torso. "We must act now," he said, impatiently.

"I appreciate your eagerness, but we must not be hasty about decisions. We play the game of patience, Dark Ace. Your time to act will come," the empress replied.

"We can't wait! Our men are dying, the Sky Knights are approaching. This must stop!" the Dark Ace said defiantly.

"Like I said Dark Ace, the dead does not hurt anyone. Let those Sky Knights come," Master Cyclonis said with a lazy flick of her hand. In a second, a dark crystal appeared in her palm and she gestured the Dark Ace to approach.

"Serve our guests well. Make sure they all get an equal share; I don't want Sky Knights squabbling."

The Dark Ace nodded and accepted the familiar crystal with his empty hand.

"And what of these heads, Master?" he asked. The gifts from the Council swung from their hairs, painting crimson spots against the silver floor. They were Cyclonian Talons, once brandishing a dark moustache and the others were blond. Their faces were pale and their mouths were agape.

"Experiment your crystal on them. It would be quite amusing," Cyclonis replied. She took her book and walked towards the exit. Only a footstep away from the door, she turned around and spoke.

"After you finish however, make sure you do have a shower. It will get quite messy."

* * *

The words the Dark Ace spoke were true as they now laced around her thoughts and knocked against her skull. She walked down the crystal- lit corridor, images of war flicking around in her head. The Sky Knights were approaching, with the Councils' orders leading them to war. It was uncertain what they wanted, yet they would strike. The young empress felt like a scared little girl again, the fear of attack like phantoms, creeping at corners, eager to leap into her mind and feast on her whole.

No.

Her fingers scrunched up into a fist and banged her bedroom door. She must not feel like this. She was the empress of Cyclonia, and after victory, the Queen of the Atmos. Victory? The word tasted sweet on her tongue as she whispered it. It was even sweeter to hear it in her ears. But for such to occur, she needed this old smelly book to guide her. She needed the wise words from her predecessors, their tactics of keeping the throne and prolonging her power.

Cyclonis hopped onto her plush violet bed and heaved the book into her lap. She opened it again, the spine crackling, similar to the flames in her fireplace. However, the book would never break; the essence of strength from her kin still haunted its brittle, yellow pages. The empress flipped to her grandmother, and smiled at the picture. Even though she was feared, her grandmother was still lovely. Her taut, pale skin wrapped around the high cheekbones and sharp chin. She had darker violet eyes than the young empress, contributing to a stern, authoritative stare. She sat upon a throne made from dark twisted metals, embedded with glistening crystals. The crystals looked like eyes, purple orbs staring with awe at their Queen.

There was no time to linger at her memories. The shuffle of footsteps from the Talons rushed in the corridors like a flooding lake, shouts and orders muffled from her door.

"_They would be useless for this attack_," she thought, peering over the book and into the fireplace. "_If those Sky Knights repeat the error they did at their dawning, the Dark Ace would easily greet our guests kindly." _A small smile lurked onto her lips. The words "Dark Ace" and "kindly" were never in the same sentence.

This small smile suddenly grew into a toothy grin. Shouts rang again, but not from her door. These shouts; no, high pitched shrieks of agony, came from her window. Placing her book down, Cyclonis hovered over to her dark curtains and pulled the heavy fabric away. It was a beautiful sight. The sky showered metal skimmers and dead bodies, sharp weapons and colourful crystals. Blood was hard to see as it camouflaged with the red hue of the sky, but she was sure there were fountains of it oozing from the deep wounds of the weak Sky Knights.

The Dark Ace greeted them well. She turned back to the fireplace, watching the flames dance with joy. The empress's amethyst eyes glimmered, with flickering reflections of red, orange, yellow.

First direct battle and victory was hers.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter is quite similar to the one in "Tainted". _

_Oh, I don't know why I've done this, rewriting it. I just feel happier this way._


	3. Deja Vu

**PLAYING WITH FIRE**

Power is like a fire. Everyone wants to taste its heat, feel its warmth and use its qualities to their own arsenal. But if you play with power, you will get burnt one way or another.

* * *

**Chapter 2:** Deja Vu

* * *

He walked upon the familiar ledge, the winds whipping through his dark hair and whispering in his ears. Those crimson eyes scanned the crimson sky, and flashes of lightning attempted to mimic the light of day. It was nice to experience this again, as the Dark Ace casted his memory back to that day. The Aurora Stone was powerful to hold, and even more so to wield. He remembered the energy tingling excitedly with his nerves as he launched his attack and fired. Their screams were like an orchestra, the high squeals from the Screaming Queens and the low groans from the Buzzards. Combined with the shrieks of failing engines, it was truly a masterpiece, all thanks to the crystal composer.

As the Dark Ace plugged the purple crystal in his sword, he wondered, "_Would this feel like the Aurora Stone?_" His doubt was merely swept away like a leaf in a cyclone, as the metal sword glowed menacingly violet, sending a powerful surge of power into Dark Ace's soul. The energy soared from his feet to his head, and pierced his heart. He had to clutch at his chest, the pain searing and burning through bone and tissue. Merciless needles pricked his skin and harsh drums beat in his brain. He wanted to scream, but he was not a weak man. All this pain for power? Yes, it hurt, but this agony was priceless. It was almost paradise.

A buzz echoed from the distance. There were two… no, four sky knight squadrons heading his way. A smirk flickered on Dark Ace's lips. _This would be easy_. A familiar yell from a Rex Guardian sparked the squadrons to speed forward. Their formation was shaped as a spear, as if it were to stab into the Cyclonian towers. The Dark Ace knew the spearhead was blunt and weak as he readied his sword.

"_Have fun with this_,"he thought.

The pain scorched through every muscle of his body as the Dark Ace fired. The power shoved him, flinging his body like a ragdoll into the wall. The yell of agony rushed from his throat, a flood of anguish he could not hold back. But his pain was soon satisfied with screams from the Screaming Queens, Buff Buzzards, Three Degree Burners and the Rex Guardians. It was deja vu, yet the crystal's power was different. Instead of an arc of blue, a herd of shadow-shaped horses rushed forward, pitilessly trampling and burning the sky squadrons. The horses looked as if they were on fire, yet it were purple flames gushing from the manes and tails.

"_So these were the Night Mares Master Cyclonis was talking about,"_ the Dark Ace remembered.

In the midst of the show, the Dark Ace got bored with the screams of agony. He decided to return to his master and report her the good news. _The war had barely started, and we have already won. _A smirk played on his thin lips as his back turned against the dying sky knights. Master Cyclonis would be proud. Four sky knight squadrons down in one go.

* * *

As Sky Knight men and women alike fell into the Wastelands, one golden lone parachute floated daintily into the Cyclonian hangar bay. He was the only survivor.

And he was going to make the most of it.


End file.
